Gospel Story Finder

Early in our marriage, my wife and I planted a garden. We knew little about gardening, but we thought the back corner of our yard looked fertile. And indeed it was. In one area we planted banana squash. The squash vines grew almost without any effort on our part until they stretched some 40 to 50 feet (10 to 15 m) along the top of a long fence. The squash were enormous. It was an incredible result for novices.
In the scriptures we often read about vineyards and grapevines. But growing grapes is not as easy as growing squash. It takes the right climate and skilled cultivation to maintain a fruitful vineyard.
Grapes were an important part of early Hebrew culture, and the tablelands and hills in the Holy Land provided an ideal place for grapevine cultivation. The land was groomed, the vines were planted along the hillsides, and the vineyards were carefully fenced to keep out unwanted animals or people. The vines were cultivated and pruned so that they would yield as much fruit as possible.
Pruning is probably the most important part of growing grapes. Branches not producing fruit are cut off. When a vine’s main branch reaches a certain size, it is cut back by taking off the tip to force the development of side shoots. Such pruning and shaping halt the growth at the tip of the branch and send nourishment into the new branches. Then, as these side branches develop, each produces as much fruit as the single vine had produced. The sturdy center stalk of the vine, rooted deep in the soil, provides the nourishment to all of these long, fruit-bearing spurs.
Vineyards have often been used symbolically in the scriptures. In the book of John, the Savior used the grapevine as a metaphor to explain the nature of His relationship with those who would be His disciples.
Prior to leaving for Gethsemane, the Savior taught the Apostles how they must live if they were to continue to be His disciples. Among the things He taught during that sacred hour was that their lives must be entirely grounded in Him and in His teachings:
“I am the true vine, and my Father is the husbandman.
“Every branch in me that beareth not fruit he taketh away: and every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit. …
“Abide in me, and I in you. As the branch cannot bear fruit of itself, except it abide in the vine; no more can ye, except ye abide in me.
“I am the vine, ye are the branches: He that abideth in me, and I in him, the same bringeth forth much fruit: for without me ye can do nothing.
“If a man abide not in me, he is cast forth as a branch, and is withered; and men gather them, and cast them into the fire, and they are burned.
“If ye abide in me, and my words abide in you, ye shall ask what ye will, and it shall be done unto you.
“Herein is my Father glorified, that ye bear much fruit; so shall ye be my disciples” (John 15:1–2, 4–8).
In this allegory are two important principles: First, we must be grounded in Christ. If we are not, we will not be fruitful (see John 15:4). If our lives are not in harmony with the teachings of the Savior, it is no more likely that we will bear good fruit than that a branch cut off from a vine will bear fruit. Second, even when we are living righteously, we still need the Gardener, who knows us so completely and sees beyond what we see, so that He can purge, or prune and purify, us (see John 15:2). While at times this pruning may seem hard to bear, it is only through this process that we will become more fruitful.
Our pruning comes in a variety of ways. We may develop an illness or physical limitation. We may find that our expectations are not fulfilled. We may find sorrow in relationships or experience personal loss. Yet what initially might seem to be a sad event can help us grow if it causes us to rely more on the Lord and to rethink our priorities. Such difficult experiences can make us more fruitful, or more like the Savior—our true vine.
Throughout my life I have had ample need for pruning. For example, a few years ago I expected to receive a company promotion. I felt I had the experience, skills, and longevity required, and I hoped the choice was obvious.
At that time there was a new top manager in our company who had different priorities and goals than I did. Among other things, he expected all senior managers to work weekends in addition to weekdays. I was a stake president then and knew that to best serve the members of my stake, I needed to spend a certain amount of time fulfilling my Church responsibilities.
When the hoped-for promotion never occurred, I had to struggle to keep myself from feeling bitter. What a disappointment! I determined just to keep going, to try to do things as well as I could, and to maintain a positive demeanor. Yet my sense of self-worth had been challenged. My abilities had been called into question. Other Church leaders I knew seemed to capably manage both demanding Church callings and time-consuming employment.
In a weak moment, I even wondered whether I had made the right choice to devote so much time to the Church. Then I decided I needed to focus on what was truly important. I began to look not only at my capabilities but also at my limitations. I could see that the time I was spending in Church service was necessary and that I probably wouldn’t have been able to manage both the employment position I had sought and my Church calling.
I think the Lord was telling me I had to choose and would have to keep choosing. To have chosen to devote extra time to my employment so I could get the promotion would have disengaged me from the Lord’s work. As I look back, I can see what a blessing it was for me to devote so much of my time to the Church. The ensuing years were some of the most rewarding of my life. I felt closer to the Lord. My testimony was strengthened. My relationship with fellow Saints in the area was a great blessing, and I am sure I became more fruitful than I would have been otherwise.
We can expect that we will be pruned throughout our lives. How wonderful it is to know that an all-wise Father is watching over our development and that He is nurturing us through His careful husbandry.
We must derive our spiritual nourishment from Jesus Christ. He is the source of all truth and of all goodness. Without Him we can do nothing (see John 15:5). When we focus on Christ and His gospel, we are filled with His light. Then the fruits of the Spirit are made manifest in us, and the blessings come (see John 15:7; Gal. 5:22–23). If we seek to achieve our full potential, let us daily think of Christ and emulate His example until we become firmly rooted to Him, the True Vine.

Education: Whether formal or informal, it is important that we educate our minds and our hands. I know a wonderful sister who served in a stake Relief Society presidency a few years ago. She put her children through schooling, and in her more mature years, she decided to go back to complete high school. This now serves as a great example to her grandchildren on the importance of getting an education.

I was down in a husbands-and-wives meeting in Provo years ago when a lovely sister bore her testimony as to the joy that had come into her home since her husband had become active in the Church. She told about going through the temple with her husband. She told how he had been inactive, how he had smoked and hadn’t been advanced in the priesthood, and how someone took hold of him and finally helped him to become worthy and ready to receive the priesthood; and the bishop had finally given him a recommend to go to the temple. After she had described that wonderful evening, she said, “Here, five little girls came in to be sealed to their father and mother. This man of God pronounced us a family for the eternities.” And as she finished this story and bore her testimony, she looked over the pulpit and down in front of her where her husband was seated. She seemed to forget for that moment that there was anybody there but just the two of them, and she said to him, “Daddy, I can’t tell you how happy the girls now are and how grateful we are for what you have done for us, because, you see, Daddy, except for you who holds the priesthood, neither the children nor I could be together as a family in the hereafter. Thank God for our daddy who holds the key and unlocks the door to an eternal family home.”

I am fortunate to have had good women in my life: a nurturing and courageous mother, wise and faithful sisters, and a loving and supportive wife. I wish to honor one of these influential women, my older sister, Thelma, for her impact in my life through her continuous good example.
When I was young, my father taught me to follow Thelma’s lead when he and my mom were not around, and I am eternally grateful for this counsel.
Three of my eight siblings joined the Church in El Salvador the same time I did. Thelma was 14 years old and my oldest sibling when we got baptized. I was 8 years old at the time and the youngest of the family, so she was our leader.
We were introduced to the Church by our neighbor who sang songs that we later learned were hymns. Our neighbor told us about a wonderful place called Primary, where children learned to sing. The missionaries were contacted, and they started visiting our home to teach us.
However, my dad had strong feelings against the Church and about his children being taught by the missionaries. Being a small boy, I never understood what those two elders went through to bring the gospel into our lives. Dad would kick them out if he found them at our home, and he would deliberately turn off the lights if the elders stopped by in the evening. Just as my dad was relentless in trying to stop the missionaries from teaching, Thelma was twice as determined to learn about the gospel and read the Book of Mormon. Thelma and the elders never gave up, and for this I am thankful.
Going to church was a struggle because Dad tried to stop us by using a variety of tactics, such as requiring that we do chores before we could leave for church.
One Sunday morning was particularly hard. He did not want to let us go, but we refused to be stopped. He kicked a garbage can and spilled its contents all over the floor we had just cleaned. Thelma quietly began picking up the garbage without complaining. After she had cleaned the floor again, she asked if we could go to church. We had finished all the chores and more, but he still did not want to give his permission. Finally he asked pointedly, “Why do you insist on going to this church anyway?” Thelma then bore a powerful testimony of the truthfulness of the gospel and of the message of the Restoration of the gospel. As she concluded, my dad waved his hand and gave his permission.
Dad never tried to stop us again after this incident and eventually, even though he did not like it, gave his consent for us to join the Church.
I had no problem attending church on Sunday, but I was not as enthusiastic about attending Primary because it was on Saturday morning at that time. When I was 10, Thelma came home one Saturday and told my other siblings about a great soccer game between the deacons and the Blazers (11-year-old Scouts). She pointed out how unfortunate it was that I had missed the game because I had not attended Primary. Needless to say, I went the following Saturday (with my soccer cleats on) and never missed it again.
When Thelma was 16, she was called to be the Primary president. Our bishop had been trying to find someone to handle the many challenges the Primary organization was facing. The ward covered a large area, and it was difficult and expensive for many families with small children to travel by bus to the church both on Saturdays for Primary and on Sundays. Many of those children were not attending Primary, and no solution had been found. The bishop had been prompted to call Thelma but could not bring himself to do it because she was so young. The prompting continued, and after receiving approval from the stake president, the bishop extended the call to my sister.
This proved to be an inspired decision, and it blessed many children—including me. Thelma magnified her calling by following inspiration, using common sense, and implementing innovative ideas to develop training programs to bring the gospel to the children. She asked her counselors and teachers to hold Primary meetings at several places closer to their homes, and she provided ongoing training for those teachers. This solution allowed members to save time and money and enabled children who were previously not attending Primary to receive the blessings of this wonderful organization.
My siblings and I continued to follow Thelma’s lead as time progressed. We held family home evenings and attended all of our Church meetings. Shortly after I was ordained a deacon, Thelma turned to me during one family home evening and recognized me as the priesthood holder in the family. This event taught me a valuable lesson about respect for the priesthood.
She also made sure I never lacked the proper encouragement and extra incentive to attend my priesthood meetings or to fulfill my responsibilities. For instance, Thelma used every noisy and energetic way to get me out of bed on Sunday mornings so I could attend priesthood meeting. She also taught me to look forward to my advancements in the Aaronic Priesthood.
At Mutual and seminary I didn’t mind that I was always known as “Thelma’s brother.” Some of my friends had the support of their parents in the Church, but I had my bishop, Young Men leaders, and Thelma.
Thelma continued to be an example to me as she held a variety of callings until she left for her mission. She served honorably in the Guatemala Quetzaltenango Mission, and the fruits of her labors included the baptism of our mother two days after Thelma returned home. Our joy was full as I, then a priest, performed this sacred ordinance. Following Thelma’s example, I began to earnestly prepare to serve a mission.

I was stressing about how I was going to pay for the things I wanted to do over the summer: classes, workshops, summer camps, and so on. I thought I was going to cry. Then I remembered all the things I’d been taught about having trust and faith in the Lord. I decided to put the situation in the Lord’s hands and trust that if it was His will, He would provide a way.
Not too long after that, my mom found an uncashed check from a job I had had earlier that year, and the very next day I got a small cash prize in the mail for taking second place in a competition. This was a great testimony to me that God does live, that He loves and cares about me and will provide.
I was so filled with gratitude and love for my Heavenly Father and Savior. I felt as if I might burst! I longed to show how thankful I was, to praise God the best that I could, and to share that feeling. Others have done this by composing a song, writing a poem, or painting a picture, but I felt inadequate to do any of those things. I realized the only thing I could give that would be adequate praise would be my life—to be “an example of the believers” (1 Timothy 4:12), to give my life to Christ. That’s all He asks, and that’s all I can give.

On one occasion I accompanied a stake president and bishop to visit a less-active member. We taught him, in a very simple way, about the blessings of the Sabbath. We expressed to him our sincere love. He responded, “All I needed was to have someone come and give me an abrazo,” or hug. I immediately stood up and embraced him. The next day was Sunday. This same brother came to sacrament meeting with his entire family.

As a college student, I heard a wonderful Relief Society lesson on service. The teacher said, “If you pray for Heavenly Father to open your eyes to the needs of others so you can help them, He will do so.”
That sentence stayed with me. I wanted to serve others but hadn’t thought to ask Heavenly Father for help. So I decided to give it a try. The next morning I knelt and prayed, “Heavenly Father, if there is anyone who needs my help today, please let me know.” I finished my prayer and headed to class.
Amid the hustle of the day, I forgot my prayer. During the afternoon I went to the grocery store. As I stood in line to pay for my groceries, I noticed an elderly woman who used a cane for support. I smiled at her and glanced at the groceries she was buying. I thought, How is she going to get those groceries into her house? I pushed aside the thought, finished paying for my own items, and headed out of the store. I noticed the woman standing next to her car while a store employee loaded her groceries into the trunk. The thought came to me again: How is she going to get those groceries into her house?
With some frustration, I countered: But what can I do? Follow her home? I had an immediate strong feeling that this idea was correct, so I gave in and drove down the road after her. I kept thinking: This is crazy! Why am I following this woman home? Soon we arrived at her apartment complex. I ran over to her and asked, “Can I help you with these groceries?”
Puzzled, the woman looked at me and asked if I lived nearby. I told her I did not. “Do you work here?” she asked.
I explained that I had seen her in the grocery store and had worried about how she would carry all those groceries into her home. At that point she looked up at me with tears in her eyes and said, “I was wondering the entire way home how I was going to get my groceries into my home.”
Later, as I drove home, my own eyes blurred with tears. I had experienced the wonderful influence of the Holy Ghost touching two lives through the power of prayer. The words of Alma 17:9 came to me: “They … prayed much that the Lord would grant unto them a portion of his Spirit to go with them, and abide with them, that they might be an instrument in the hands of God.”
I am grateful to Heavenly Father for the special gift of the Holy Ghost that not only blesses our lives but also helps us bless the lives of others.

When I first arrived in Brazil as a missionary, I immediately loved the beautiful, green country and the open, loving, humble people.
The work was often difficult. Representatives of another church would tell the youth to throw rocks at us. We were put in jail. It was hard for people to join the Church, because their neighbors would ostracize them. That was in the late 1950s when the Church didn’t have even one stake in Brazil.
Now there are almost 200 stakes. It has been a spiritual blessing to see the miraculous growth of the Church in Brazil as I’ve returned with my family as a mission president and member of an Area Presidency.

“OK, Mckay, it sounds like you need a time out.” Mother’s voice was smooth and calm, but Mckay could still hear the strain in it. “You two shouldn’t be acting this way.”
Mckay frowned. “Then why doesn’t Josie have to sit in a ‘quiet’ chair? She started it by calling me names.”
Mother sighed as she peeled and sliced bananas on top of the banana cream pie she was making. Instead of answering Mckay’s question, she asked him one, “How old is Josie?”
“She’s only three, but she drives me crazy,” Mckay replied, huffing the words from his mouth as if they were hot peppers.
Mother ignored his rudeness. “And how old are you, Mckay?”
Mckay swallowed some of the angry lump in his throat as he began to realize what his mother was trying to say. “I’m eight.”
Mother smiled and nodded. “Do you think that that might be why you’re sitting there, instead of Josie?”
Mckay only shrugged. Mother continued, “I think that Josie knows something is wrong, but she doesn’t quite understand what or why.” Mother slipped the pie into the refrigerator. “But you understand, right?”
Again Mckay shrugged.
“Read Josie a story, and then you may be excused,” Mother said.
Josie overheard and ran to the bookcase. She picked out her favorite story about Adam and Eve and scooted her chair next to Mckay.
As Mckay read, he knew that Josie was more interested in the pictures of the animals than the story, but he still read every word because he knew that his mother could hear.
Mckay closed the book when he’d finished. Josie opened it and begged him to read the story again. Mckay looked at Mother, who was waiting to see what he would do.
“Fine,” Mckay said. This time he simply told the story. “Adam and Eve chose to eat the fruit that God told them not to eat. As a result, they knew right from wrong and they had to leave the Garden of Eden, and that’s the end.”
Josie giggled, “Read again.”
This time Mckay grumbled, “Mom, do I have to?”
“I don’t think she minds your quick version,” Mother said with a smile. “But there’s one thing that you could add this time.”
“What?”
“You forgot the part where Adam and Eve told the Lord they had eaten of the fruit. They understood that they had made the choice to disobey one law to obey another, and that they were accountable for that choice, right?”
Mckay was thoughtful as he looked at the picture of Adam and Eve leaving the garden. They knew what they had done, and they were ready to accept the consequences of their choice. In other words, they were ready to do whatever Heavenly Father said that they needed to do now. McKay had never thought of it that way before.
“They don’t look happy and carefree anymore, do they?” Mother asked.
Mckay flipped the pages back to the beginning of the book. His mother was right. At the start of the story, they looked different—sort of like Josie.
Mckay was quiet all through dinner. He thought of his baptism, remembering how long he had waited to be eight so that he could be accountable. For the first time, he was thankful that Heavenly Father had made him wait to be baptized until he truly understood that he was responsible for his own choices.
When Mother passed out the banana cream pie, Josie couldn’t wait politely for Mother to help her eat her piece. She quickly grabbed it and started eating with both hands.
“Oh, Josie,” Mother gently scolded. “What a mess!” She wiped Josie’s hands and mouth and changed her bib.
Mckay ate his piece as quickly as he could. He dropped a gooey banana on his shirt.
“What a mess!” Josie repeated to her mother as she pointed at Mckay’s dirty shirt.
Taking his napkin, Mckay wiped his shirt clean, smiled, and simply said, “Yep, but I’m old enough to know when I’ve made a mess, and I take care of it the best I can.”
“Mess all gone!” Josie clapped her hands in surprise as if she thought the shirt had been cleaned by magic.
Mckay laughed, “Wait till you’re eight, little sister. Then you’ll get to clean up your messes, too.”
Mother smiled and winked at Mckay. “That’s right, Josie. Just wait.”

Todd parted the barbed wire carefully and climbed through the fence. Then he held it up for King. The collie leaped through carefully and bounded into the field. He ran in wild circles, his nose to the ground, stopping occasionally to snap at bees. Todd watched him, laughing. The April sun glinted on the dog’s golden coat, thick and deep from the cold winter. Blackbirds perched on the fence posts and cried their shrill, musical notes into the warm air.
“Come here, King!” Todd called. He put his hand on King’s sun-warmed head. King was Todd’s best friend—his only nearby friend, except for Mr. Phillips. There were no boys Todd’s age in the small mountain town where he lived, and he had to ride the school bus ten miles to attend school in Dirkston.
Todd climbed through another fence into Mr. Phillips’ sheep enclosure. He could hear the old man moving around in the lambing shed. “Hi!” he called as he walked into the dimness of the shed. Then he saw Mr. Phillips watching a ewe lick her newborn lamb. His large frame was slightly stooped, and he ran his fingers through his thick white hair as he watched the lamb teeter on its legs.
“Look at this fine lamb, Todd.” A smile crinkled the old man’s weathered face, making his eyes disappear. The ewe nuzzled its lamb, and soon the newborn was sucking contentedly. Todd watched the lamb, smiling. He wanted to pick it up, to feel its woolly little body.
“You can hold it later,” the rancher said, picking up two shovels. “We have a less pleasant job to do now. Come on.”
Todd followed his friend into the bright sunlight where King waited patiently by the door. He spent most of his Saturdays with Mr. Phillips, helping him with the sheep. Todd liked being there, for Mr. Phillips was like a grandpa to him.
“What are we going to do?” Todd asked, running a little to catch up.
“Well, Todd, I’d just as soon you didn’t see this, but I guess it’s part of our job.”
As they approached the corner of the fields, several black and white magpies flapped noisily into the air. Todd saw two dead sheep on the ground. “What happened?” His stomach tightened as he looked at the sheep’s torn bodies.
Mr. Phillips started to dig in the moist ground, piling the muddy shovelfuls onto the grass. “Dogs,” he said, not looking up.
“Dogs?” Todd felt amazed and indignant. “Are you sure? Why would they do it?” Todd began digging too, widening the hole.
Mr. Phillips stooped and stopped beside the sheep. “That’s the question, Todd. They don’t even eat the sheep. They just chase and kill them.”
“Don’t you ever hear them bleating?” Todd asked.
“That’s kind of a funny thing about sheep. They don’t make a sound when they’re really frightened; they just run. I never hear a thing.”
Todd still couldn’t understand how this could happen. “When do the dogs come? Have you seen them?”
“I’ve seen four or five dogs running together ever since work started on the new dam and the men moved their trailers in up there. Everybody has a fierce watchdog because they keep so much equipment outside their trailers.”
Todd knew what he meant. He had seen a pack of large dogs too. “What can you do?” he said.
“I just don’t know.” Mr. Phillips reached out and touched the sheep’s woolly head. “These were last year’s lambs, such fine sheep. This has happened too often lately, but I haven’t told you. I’ve lost ten or twelve sheep this way.” Todd could see the tears standing in his friend’s dark eyes. He knew how much Mr. Phillips loved his sheep, how he called each one by name as he worked with them.
The boy felt a terrible anger and frustration inside him. “Can’t you go to the owners and tell them?”
“I’ve tried that. But each one claims his dog is tied at night or for some other reason couldn’t be the killer. And since I don’t actually see who does the killing, I don’t really know who’s responsible.”
“I’d put out some poison,” Todd said, angrily pushing his hair out of his face as he worked.
Mr. Phillips began digging again. “Well, Todd, I just couldn’t do that. It’s not legal. And you never know what animal might get the poison. Suppose good old King there ate it.”
Todd’s throat tightened at the thought of anything happening to King. He looked at the dog lying on the cool grass, eyes half closed against the sun. Then he had another idea. “Why don’t you get your gun and sit out here all night and watch. If you see a dog coming in here, just shoot it.”
“I’ve thought of something like that. Maybe if I clipped off one or two it would discourage the others. I don’t like the idea of shooting somebody’s dog, but I just can’t let this keep happening, and I’m within my legal right to shoot if a strange dog is on my property.”
Todd helped Mr. Phillips drag the sheep into the hole and cover them. Then they walked silently across the field to the sheds, King following sedately behind them.
Sunday morning Todd lay with his eyes closed a minute, eager to begin another beautiful spring day; but when he opened his eyes the room was gray and dim. A light rain was falling outside. He dressed quickly and quietly, wanting to see Mr. Phillips before Sunday School started and find out if anything had happened during the night.
Todd closed the back screen door quietly behind him and gave a low whistle for King. He was surprised when the animal didn’t bound out of his doghouse, but without waiting he walked quickly through the fields to Mr. Phillip’s sheds. As he crawled through the last fence, he saw Mr. Phillips leaning over something on the ground. He’s shot a dog, Todd thought. He ran forward quickly, but before he reached Mr. Phillips he stopped, fear and grief gripping his body. He walked forward slowly, his eyes fixed on the golden coat of the dog, now soggy with rain. Mr. Phillips looked up. He came toward Todd and put his hands on his shoulders.
“Todd,” he said, “it’s King. I’m so sorry.” Todd looked into Mr. Phillips’ face and saw tears mixed with raindrops, running into the deep wrinkles of his face. His dark eyes were full of suffering.
Todd felt numb. “How did it happen?” he asked.
“The night was so dark with the clouds and all—I’d fallen asleep waiting. When I woke up, I saw the dark form of a dog moving across the pastures, so I shot. I didn’t even look at the body until this morning. When I saw it was King I couldn’t believe it. He was probably headed for the house to see if we’d put out any scraps for him.” Mr. Phillips moved to put his arms around the boy.
Todd stiffened and pulled away. “How could you shoot King? You know him. You see him every day.” His voice rose with anger.
“It was dark. …” Mr. Phillips dropped his hands. Todd ran to King’s body, still hoping that it wasn’t really King, but it was. He lifted the dog’s head, thinking to carry him home. Mr. Phillips came behind him. “I’ll get the cart,” he said.
“No, I’ll take him myself!” Todd cried angrily.
Mr. Phillips went for a cart anyway as Todd struggled to lift the large wet dog. It was impossible. Together they lifted the dog into the cart and the old man pulled it down the road toward Todd’s house. The boy walked a few feet behind, grieving in silence.
Mr. Phillips wanted to dig the hole, but Todd wouldn’t let him. He dug it himself in the soft earth of his mother’s flower garden, where she would put her petunias and marigolds later on. Mr. Phillips stood silently a moment watching him and then turned and went home. Todd’s mother brought the old woolen blanket from the porch swing and wrapped it around King’s body. His father, wearing his Sunday suit, helped lower the dog into the hole.
Todd sat through Sunday School and sacrament meeting, hearing nothing, feeling only grief for his dog. He kept picturing King running through the field in the sunshine. Yesterday seemed months ago.
On Monday night Mr. Phillips came to the door with a little bummer lamb for Todd. Todd wouldn’t see him. He told his mother to tell Mr. Phillips he didn’t want the lamb. All week Todd stayed in his room after school, mostly just lying on his bed. After dinner and chores he went back to his room. On Friday night, Todd’s father followed him into his room. He sat down on the side of the bed, not saying anything.
Finally Todd spoke. “Dad, do you honestly believe in dog heaven, or is it just a story to make little kids feel better?”
“I don’t know about dog heaven, but I do believe firmly that all life is eternal, because everything was created spiritually before it was created physically.”
“What does that mean?”
“It’s hard to understand, but to you it means that King still lives.”
“Will I see him again after I die?”
“I don’t know that for sure, but it may be possible.” Todd’s father looked at him closely. “You haven’t done any work at school all week, and you’ve just lain here every night. Aren’t you beginning to feel a little better?”
“No,” Todd answered, looking away.
“One thing bothers me,” his father said. “You had two great friends in this rather lonely place. You lost one by accident, something that couldn’t be helped. I don’t know why you chose to lose the second one. Have you thought any about how Mr. Phillips has been feeling this week?”
Todd had tried not to think of it. But he kept seeing Mr. Phillip’s face with tears and rain running down it. His conscience had also reminded him that shooting the prowling dogs was his idea. “Well, I don’t want that little bummer lamb. How could he think a lamb would ever replace King?”
“I’m sure he doesn’t think that, but he needs to do something to show how sorry he is. You’re hurting him far more than he hurt you, because you’re doing it intentionally.”
Todd hadn’t thought of it quite like that. He still didn’t look at his father, who suddenly leaned over and kissed his cheek.
Saturday morning, Todd woke up early, the same knot of pain forming in his stomach as it did every morning since King died. Sunshine streamed in the window. Todd dressed, went out quietly, and walked through the fields, the morning dew drenching his sneakers. As the sun warmed his face, Todd slowly began to feel a little more alive again. His heart still ached for King, but he felt some sense of comfort, a feeling of his heart softening just as he had prayed it would.
He saw Mr. Phillips in the shed gathering his shearing tools. “I guess I need that lamb if I’m ever going to have my own flock,” Todd called from the doorway. Mr. Phillips turned and came through the door into the sunlight, his eyes warm and shining.
“I’m sure glad to see you, Todd,” he said. “I’m going to need help with this shearing.”
And together they went into the shed.

I wanted to read the Bible from the time I was about 11 years old. But in the home where I was raised, the Bible was considered so sacred it was kept in a closet under lock and key. When I was 13 and my brother was 12, we went to live in the beautiful country of Canada. Between the ages of 16 and 20, I attended two Christian churches. They used the Bible to teach correct principles, but as I was investigating, I learned something about the members—that they didn’t get along with each other very well. I stopped going to these churches for three years.
When I was 23, I met a young man at a discotheque. A few months later I married him, and shortly afterwards we had our first baby. Everything was going well in our home. He worked hard, always came home from work early, and helped me with the housework. I was very happy and peaceful in my home, and I completely forgot about God.
But without any warning, one day my husband started going out to discotheques with his friends. These friends also wanted to go to bars. So in just a few months my husband had become a drunk and a carouser. Eventually I resigned from my job and left him. Soon after our separation I learned that I was expecting my second child. I felt so sad and distressed I couldn’t find peace. I would go to sleep crying and wake up crying. But thanks to a woman who was a great friend to me, I started attending a Christian church again.
This time I took the things of God more seriously. I even set a goal to investigate more churches. Before I would go to church, I would kneel down and ask Heavenly Father to give me more wisdom so that I would be able to choose good and reject evil.
I began to visit other churches in addition to the Christian church I attended, but I often felt confused by their different doctrines. The more confused I got, the more I prayed. It seemed that every time I visited a church, I felt something was missing, but I didn’t realize what it was. That’s why I set a goal to keep investigating other churches and not rest until I found the truth.
One day I was visiting my brother and sister-in-law, and it got dark before I left. I had quite a distance to walk to reach the bus stop. This was March 1992, and it was very cold with a strong wind. My baby was squirming as I carried him. I walked backwards many times so the wind would hit me and not my baby.
I became sad as I thought about how I was freezing, walking with my baby, while my ex-husband had our car. I started thinking about how cruel life had been to me and felt a great weight in my heart. I started to cry like a child. I looked around and saw I was alone, so I cried to God out loud, “Heavenly Father, help me find the light.”
Finally I arrived at the bus stop, and when the bus came I sat in the front seat as I always did. When I looked to my left, I saw two young men in white shirts and ties. One of them came up to me and said to me in Spanish that was quite limited, “You too speak Spanish?”
“Yes, of course,” I replied.
“You desire to receive the gospel of Jesus Christ?” he asked.
These words were wonderful to me. The gospel of Jesus Christ. I had investigated several churches, and in none of them had I heard this beautiful turn of phrase. I had always heard the word, the gospel, or the good news. So I very happily gave them my address and phone number.
I started taking the discussions from the missionaries, and in June 1992 I was baptized and confirmed. I will never forget that very special day. Before entering the waters of baptism I could feel a great weight, as if I were walking with feet of lead. But when I came out of the water, I felt like I was flying in the air. And when the missionaries placed their hands on my head and gave me the gift of the Holy Ghost, a warm feeling entered my body, and I was filled with a peace I had never felt before. The tears began to roll down my cheeks. To my surprise I realized I was crying not from pain or sadness but for the great joy and peace in my heart.
Some months after my baptism I was called to serve in the nursery and then as a Primary teacher. A year later I received my endowment. I also met a great man at church. In September 1994 we were sealed in the Toronto Canada Temple. Three years later we were blessed with a beautiful son.
I continue to serve in Church callings, and I share my testimony of the gospel with all my loved ones. I know that the gospel of Jesus Christ comes from the heavens in all its glory and that through this gospel we can be transformed if we are obedient to the Lord’s commandments.

When the Rabasto family joined the Church about four years ago, they devoted their whole hearts to it. After moving to the Bahamas from the Philippines, their dad, Adolfo, was called to the branch presidency. They hold regular family home evening. Archie and Roselle, the two high schoolers in the family, both attend seminary every day. They read the scriptures daily as a family. Rinna, the oldest sister in the family, is a student at Brigham Young University.

What the family loves most about the gospel is the Christmas present they received last year. During the holiday break, the family took a trip to the temple in Orlando, Florida, to be sealed.

“I felt really excited to be in the temple,” says Archie. “I remember my sisters crying, and I felt happy and peaceful.”

From Orlando, the family said good-bye to Rinna, since she was leaving for college. They miss her, of course, but they say they feel calm about her being so far away in Utah, since they know they’ll always be a family, no matter where they go.

“Everyone in the temple kept telling us how great we looked with our white clothes and jet-black hair,” says Roselle. “We felt great, too. You could feel the air-conditioning in the temple, but I felt a warmth inside my heart. The feelings I had there were indescribable.”

My officer friend told me recently of two young men in the backseat of a police car, handcuffs about their wrists. They had started out innocently enough that evening. Four of them in a car went about looking for excitement. They found it. Soon there was a fight. Then the police cars converged. The boys were detained and handcuffed.

These were good young men. They were not of the kind that go to the jailhouse periodically. The mother of one of them had said to him before he left home, “Bad things happen after 11 o’clock.”

He had quickly learned the meaning of that statement. He was embarrassed. He was ashamed to face his mother.

“I’m pregnant!”
Conflicting feelings awoke in my heart as my friend shared the news with me. One half of my heart was so happy for her, truly. But on the other half, I felt a raw, biting ache that I immediately tried to push down into nonexistence.
When you don’t acknowledge pain, it’s not real, right? (Wrong!)
I wish that were the case.
This was the 10th friend of mine who had announced a pregnancy in the past few months, and trust me, I was immensely excited for them all.
However, I couldn’t help but feel deep sadness in my soul. I strive to not be a jealous person, but on this day, as someone who is living the reality of reproductive struggles, I felt I had come across one too many baby announcements. The pain in my heart overflowed.
This part of my life felt so unfair, so uncertain, and so unbelievably hard.
However, in that moment of self-pity, I remembered a source of spiritual strength I always turn to when I am feeling vexed about my circumstances:
My patriarchal blessing.
Since I was young, I’ve had an illness that I knew would impact my ability to bring children into the world. Through a lot of prayers, temple attendance, and simply trusting the Lord, I’ve felt peace and hope about my situation many, many times.
So I was frustrated with myself for once again feeling isolated from the rest of the young expectant mothers around me.
This wasn’t my first time trying to wrangle these difficult emotions.
And like always, when I turned to the words in my patriarchal blessing for solace, I felt the Spirit’s comforting presence fill my soul.
When I read about my divine identity, I feel connected to Heavenly Father and Jesus Christ.
When I read about my spiritual gifts, I feel empowered to face my challenges with grace and to share the light of Jesus Christ with others.
When I read about the promises the Lord has made to me, I feel a renewed sense of reassurance that He will provide my life with blessings in His time, even if I need to wait on Him.
I feel the gap between myself and Them minimize every time I read my patriarchal blessing. Although it doesn’t reveal all the details about how my life will unfold, it does reveal that I can turn to Them for guidance and that I can have hope for the promised blessings I’m seeking to come into my life when the time is right.
My patriarchal blessing deepens my trust in Them, which allows me to replace the bite of unfairness and jealousy in my heart with the warmth of peace and hope.
It can do the same for you.

My mother and father separated when I was two and a half years old. I would go visit my father every month, and when I was younger, this was really fun. But when I got older, we had a couple of disagreements and things got worse and worse.
I remember crying to my mother that I did not want to visit my father anymore. She said, “Pray, and everything will be better.” And I did.
God helped me and my father. Now we have a better relationship. We talk, and he calls me when he goes to his home country, Macedonia, so I can talk with my family there.

I was particularly affected by the experiences of the sons of Mosiah. What tremendous power they gained as they turned their lives to the Savior and sought to take the gospel to their Lamanite brethren! For the first time in my life, I fasted about my desire to share the gospel and prayed to be directed. On one memorable day, the maintenance man who worked in our apartment complex said that he would like to know more about the Church, and a neighbor knocked on my door and said, “I’ve noticed your family goes to church on Sunday. What church do you go to?”

The Book of Mormon brought me a great desire to be accepted of the Lord. One night, my newborn daughter awakened me. I fed her, and she soon fell asleep, but I was left awake in the stillness of the night. I thought of the changes in my life and the many things that still needed to be changed. My thoughts were drawn to God, and I prayed, remembering the words of the Lamanite king who cried, “O God, … wilt thou make thyself known unto me, and I will give away all my sins to know thee.” (Alma 22:18.)
One by one, the Lord showed me my weaknesses. In the early hours of the morning, I received a sweet assurance, which I recorded in my journal and have pondered many times: “I am your Father. Your Father!”
I now have a different view of my experience years ago when I was contacted by those two young women. I am grateful that I saw then how much I needed to search the scriptures. I wish I had been prepared to share knowledge and testimony with those young women. I realize how much more I need to study and to live the principles of the gospel.
Two years ago my goal was to read the entire Old Testament for the first time in my life. Little did I suspect that I would find in Jeremiah 29:13 this beautiful promise of the Lord: “Ye shall seek me, and find me, when ye shall search for me with all your heart.” [Jer. 29:13]
That search very much involves the scriptures, and it leads to eternal life.

It took a lot of time and sincere effort to break bad habits. Eventually I was judged by my priesthood leader as worthy to serve a mission. The best feeling in the world was to go to the temple and know I am clean. The Spirit I wanted to feel during all those teenage years came flooding into my heart and life. I am so thankful for the Atonement of Jesus Christ.
The adversary still works on me, trying to get me to backslide. But I have learned to put on the armor of God every day. I know Jesus Christ loves me, and I love Him.

One afternoon during my internship as an air traffic controller at the airport in Tijuana, Mexico, my instructor and I noticed that a fogbank from the ocean had covered the airport and a large part of the city. Visibility, however, was within the limits allowed for aircraft to land and take off.
Soon, we detected on radar a Cessna 172 coming from the south along the coast, flying via visual flight rules (VFR). Under VFR, pilots locate themselves visually with reference points on the ground to reach their destination.
Unfortunately, the pilot had gotten lost in the fog. Flying in circles around the coastal area, he tried to locate himself in relation to the airport, but the poor visibility restricted his vision. I asked my instructor what we could do to help him.
“He needs to tune in to the tower’s airband frequency and communicate with us,” he replied. “Otherwise, we can’t do anything for him.”
I didn’t understand why the lost pilot didn’t communicate with us. Did he have a problem with his radio? Did he feel that he could get out of danger by himself?
Minutes passed. Finally, the pilot tuned in to the tower frequency. With a worried tone, he asked for help. Immediately we gave him directions to lead him safely to the airport runway. He just had to trust our instructions and his flight instruments.
Seeing the plane emerge from the fog a few minutes later and then land safely gave us indescribable joy.
On the way home, I pondered what the pilot had experienced. Calling us on the right airband frequency made the difference between receiving help or flying in circles—or worse.

Much like Angela and Annette, Marco Dauphin is eager to spread the gospel by sharing it with anyone who will listen. Marco is pretty much like any young man his age, with a passion for basketball and a quick, easy smile. But there is something a little different about him, too. He is a leader. He introduces his friends and family to things he thinks are good and uplifting. He knows how to include everyone and make each person feel comfortable. When he first met the missionaries a few years ago, he immediately knew they had something special—something he wanted to have, too.

“I remember learning from the missionaries about the Second Coming,” he says. “I loved it.”

Soon he was ready for baptism, and so was his younger brother, Derek. Younger sister Sandra soon followed. His youngest sister, Tina, was too young then but has since been baptized. But Marco’s older sister, Rosenelle, wasn’t so sure that joining the Church was a good idea.

“I was strong in my belief that the Church was not true,” says Rosenelle.

But at Marco’s urging, Rosenelle continued to meet with the missionaries, never committing to baptism but never completely rejecting the idea either.

“I never gave up,” says Marco. “I knew it would happen.”

And it did. While reading the Book of Mormon one afternoon, Rosenelle read about Alma the Younger. Soon she was thinking about her own life and the direction it was taking. She prayed for a long time that day and started to have some feelings that she couldn’t quite describe.

“Marco told me it was the Spirit,” says Rosenelle. “I knew he was right. I became converted and was baptized. I haven’t ever regretted it.”

The Dauphins’ mother, who is single, isn’t a member of the Church, and she often has to be at work on Monday evenings. So Marco and Rosenelle hold family home evening, complete with a game, songs, prayers, and a lesson. Sometimes the full-time missionaries are invited.

It’s a challenge to coordinate their activities in the Church, but the Dauphins say the effort is worth it. “Joining the Church was a real relief for us,” says Marco. “When we have the Spirit in our home, we feel closer together. We just feel better.”

How did you come into the Church? Was it a chance discovery or a final stopping point after a period of soul searching?
My road to the Church was a long one. For a long time I had been searching for peace for my soul. I became interested in yoga and practiced it. I did find some peace of mind. But later my anxiety renewed, and I felt a desire to join a church. I began to have the same question as did Joseph Smith. Which church? I tried many different churches but felt no particular sympathies toward any of them. I didn’t know then about the existence of The Church of Jesus Christ of Latter-day Saints. In the depths of my soul I heard an answer, “You must visit a church with representatives from America.” I was very surprised by this; nevertheless, I felt reassured. In the spring I bought a ticket to a concert by the Young Ambassadors from Brigham Young University. After the concert I met missionaries who invited me to church. Elder Wood taught me the six discussions. From the very start of the discussions, I felt that this was the very church for which I had been searching.
I am grateful to the Lord that he led me to his church. I was baptized and received the gift of the Holy Ghost. My life greatly changed. I have gained joy, happiness, and peace. I have found the very life for which I was searching.